Other Side of the World Lonely

I was told, ‘If the Army doesn’t issue it…you don’t need it!’ For the most part it was true. It was particularly true for the short run. My mind was primarily focused on the daily tasks at hand. I didn’t have a struggle keeping the love fires burning on the home front.

However, I did make a contingency plan with three female pen pals. I figured at least one of them would last six months. All letters ceased before Christmas. I didn’t have anything great to write about my days. Even my Dad shut down that year. He survived through denial. I knew that he loved me; that was enough.

The only care package I received that year was from a missionary family, that I had met through the Christian Serviceman’s Center. His name was Frank Gill, though I am sure his wife put the package together. I was in the field. It was a fine moment to share home made cookies with the platoon. Some had previously offered to share with me; at times I would take one cookie, never more. After giving up hope, I felt embarrassed to take from anyone else. When the Gill’s package arrived…that evened the score. The cookies were not extremely fresh, but the were from the other side of the world. They were from home!

Two ladies found themselves etched in my Vietnam memory. The first worked with the Red Cross. I stumbled onto their center by accident. Guys were playing board games. The ladies tried hard, but they were clearly bored. I reluctantly asked one, if she would kindly play a game of checkers. The were informally called Donut Dollies. It was so great to see an American lady, after all these weeks abroad. I tried to play a bit slow, in hopes of a small conversation. The ratio of American men to women on this base was probably 10,000:1.  With those odds, a ten minute checkers game was as good as it gets. I thanked her and left. She was the last American female that I saw in Vietnam.

One Vietnamese lady stands out to this day. She was a Tea Lady. Something like a Japanese Geisha, these ladies would sit at a  table and converse. The gentleman was required to buy tea for both the lady and themselves. I had heard that they were lovely; I had heard that they were highly suspected of being enemy agents…extracting bits of information from careless soldiers. Some things you have to see for yourself.

We drank a round of tea. Her features were fine and her hands delicate. Her silk dress conveyed that same aura of an elite class of Vietnamese. Her English betrayed an educated woman; there was no apparent monetary need for her to waste time with a lower ranked soldier.

Mid-way the first cup, she broached into inquiry of things military.  I assured her that I was totally ignorant of any news past this very moment. I must have thoroughly convinced her, because she reluctantly accepted the offer of a second cup. Since we were on my second-cup dime, I boldly asked her, “What do you think of the American presence in Vietnam?”

Her eyes flashed, before her studied reply. I knew that I stared into a most beautiful face, of the enemy. She might as well have carried an AK-47. Her weapons were words. She carefully replied, “The French were here; the French are gone. The Americans are here; the Americans…will also leave.” Her conviction utterly surprised me. I hurried the last of the tea. The empty cup signaled the end of this conversation.

Several years later, with the fall of Saigon televised, I remembered the Tea Lady. I wondered where she was celebrating.

The army couldn’t issue anything for an empty heart. We filled our minds with excess. The only way to fight loneliness was to  keep moving and to rid oneself of any unnecessary baggage. The war is won or lost between the ears.